


Humiliation

by acerbitas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, The scene in the trailer where Theon shaves Ramsay, Thramsay is its own warning, Verbal Abuse, flaying, rape/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1360300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acerbitas/pseuds/acerbitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Roose dismisses Ramsay's political plans, Ramsay takes it out on Theon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humiliation

Roose tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned stiffly against the dungeon wall. His unruly bastard sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room. A thick slathering of shaving gel dripped off of Ramsay’s face, and behind him, holding the razor, stood the prisoner he had insisted on making his plaything. Theon Greyjoy, he once had been, future ruler of the Islands and sole rightful heir to Pyke.

But now the boy stood filthy and emaciated, no different from the homeless drunks who oft passed out in the ditches near the castle after being refused entry to the whorehouses. Roose really wished his “son” could display more subtlety, especially in matters pertaining to the attentions of other noble houses, but at least this new distraction kept Ramsay off the radar in other matters of importance.

But now, Ramsay seemed all too eager to change this, making Roose wish that he could just lay down upon his bed with a nice tray of leeches and a flagon of red wine.

“I told you, I’ve got him well trained enough to do whatever I demand,” bragged Ramsay.

The boy wore far too much pink, Roose decided, enough to make a mockery of their House’s banners and sigil. He would have to address this later.

“Look at him. He’s shaving me without a word.”

Roose glanced up at the prisoner, but his face was downcast, focusing on naught but the task in front of him. “A real man would have sliced my throat the minute the blade met his fingertips, but we know what this creature really is, don’t we father?”

Roose glared at him; his eyes were dark and tired.  Ramsay could see he wasn’t in the mood for chatter, and that was actually to Ramsay’s advantage.  It would be easier to wear him down and make him listen.

“I’m...not clear.  What is this creature?”  Roose’s lips turned up into a sour smile.

“He’s a dog!”  Ramsay frowned.  Reek did whatever he wanted.  Ramsay had made Reek, and if Reek did well, then that would be Ramsay’s doing.  He’d beaten Reek until he behaved, and that had taken patience.  A lot of patience.  “My dog.  The Boltons’ dog.”

“...And why do the Boltons need a dog to do their diplomacy?”  Roose always spoke softly, but it didn’t mean his words weren’t hard.

Ramsay ground his teeth in frustration, and grabbed Reek by the hair.  He yanked Reek close to him, leaning in so he could smell every layer of dirt that covered his servant.  “If I send you to negotiate, you will do everything I ask of you?”

“Yes.”  Reek winced, but didn’t squirm, still clutching the razor.  A good little pet.

Ramsay kept a tight grip on his captive as he turned back to his father.  “See?  He won’t misbehave.”  He yanked Reek’s hair for good measure, and the beast properly whined.

Roose looked at Ramsay with disgust on his face, and Ramsay’s heart began to pound.  He doesn’t believe me, he thought, his head flooding with rage.   _And it’s Reek’s fault.  Reek isn’t being subservient enough.  He isn’t good enough._

“He’s right in front of you.  What will happen when he isn’t?  He’s just afraid, Ramsay.  Fear isn’t loyalty.”  Roose paused thoughtfully.  “Fear is a powerful tool, Ramsay.  But you use it too liberally.  There are other methods of persuasion.”

Ramsay shoved Reek away, the room pulsing in front of him.   _That little shit,_ he thought, glaring at the trembling man beside him.  Reek was quivering so hard his teeth were chattering.

“Stop shaking!” Ramsay roared.

Reek could only get himself down to a minor tremor; he stood staring at his feet.

“He’s not just afraid,” Ramsay snapped.  “He’s not.  He’s loyal and he wants to please me.  Don’t you?”

The warning in his voice made Reek freeze before answering.  “Yes, I do.”

Ramsay turned to his father.  “See?” he said.  “If you spent more time with him, you’d believe me.”  He was feeling a little desperate now, and that made him all the more infuriated.

Reek stood silently, still as a stone.

“Did I tell you to stop shaving me?”

“No, m’lord”  Reek began again.  He gripped his shaving arm with his other hand, trying to steady it the best that he could.

Roose, who’d been silent, snapped his fingers for his son’s attention.

“See?”  Ramsay said.  “Docile and stupid.”

“No,” snapped Roose, feeling his voice rise to a rare tone of irritation. He strode over and knocked the blade from the creature’s hands, staring icily at his son’s insolent gape.

“You may have my blood, but you are not a Bolton,” he reminded his son coolly. “A real Bolton--one of my true wife’s loins--would know the proper manner in which we govern our political affairs. Had Domeric been alive today, I would have entrusted him with managing such a task with my utmost confidence. But you? You are a Snow, and I dare say I hardly trust you to clean these filthy floors.”

Ramsay shot up from the table, burning with rage.  He turned to his father, hands balled into fists.  His son’s creature scurried away from both of them, hands clasped together like he was praying.

Ramsay began to utter something disrespectful in response, but Roose never found out exactly what, because he dealt a sharp backhand as soon as the words began. Ramsay stumbled backward, shocked, into the table. The red handprint had already begun to bloom on his cheek, right under his left eye.

“That is for daring to inform me of your plans to invoke  your pet in business matters on my behalf,” explained Roose. “Next time, you shall ask my permission before even planning such an act of any kind. Are we in agreeance?”

Ramsay nodded, but Roose could still see the rage flaming in his eyes.

“I see you have stolen my razor,” he added. “I expect it back in my cabinet within the hour. And I would advise against using my political hostage to indulge your perverted whims. Cross me this way again, and I will see to it you do not have a pet at all.”

Ramsay saw red.  He stumbled towards his father, fists clenched so tight he could feel the sweat pooling inside of them.  For just a moment, he saw himself whacking his father across the face.  Stabbing him, again, and again.  Then he’d blame Reek.

But Reek was too timid, and nobody would believe him.  He stopped, staring at Roose through hazy vision.

“Are you going to hit me back?”  There was amusement in Roose’s voice.

Ramsay didn’t say anything; he couldn’t say anything, because if he did his father might throw him out.  Or throw him in the dungeons.  One day, his father would regret this.  

Ramsay was going kill all the boys that Ramsay’s wife had.  He’d kill that stupid cow once Roose died, and one day, he would be lord, whether or not his father liked it.

For now, he gave a curt nod, and Roose left, a smile still on his lips.  Ramsay turned towards Reek.

“I suppose you liked my father’s little outburst,” he snapped.

Theon just quivered, his eyes rooted to the floor.

“Did I tell you to stop shaving me?” Ramsay picked up the blade that Theon had dropped and thrust it back into his hands. “And you’d better not cut me or else I’ll flay both your arms up to the elbows.”  Ramsay sat down in his chair, but his whole body was rigid.

Theon held the blade. His hands were so sweaty that he almost dropped it again, but he shakily took control and resumed gently shaving his captor’s face.

“Not a Bolton,” Ramsay seethed to himself, muttering out loud as Theon worked. “Hardly fit to mop the floors. Perverted whims. How dare he say that to me. Out loud. What a fucking cunt.”

Theon swallowed. “I...I agree, mi’lord...it was wrong of him, mi’lord, insolent and out of line and…” he stopped, running out of words, and finding that his mouth was too dry to talk much. He hadn’t had water since the day before last.

“You better agree, you sniveling rat. He even said that--that if it were Domeric--”

Ramsay’s thick shoulder muscles tensed with anger under Theon’s hands.  Before Theon could register his captor’s growing anger, it was too late.

Ramsay suddenly stood up and shoved his chair away. Theon’s vision blurred as Ramsay slammed a fist into his face and pinned his thin frame down over the table.

 _No,_ Theon thought, despairing. _No, no!_  He knew what Ramsay wanted, and he wasn’t allowed to refuse.

Theon squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his ragged shirt being cut away, felt the familiar agony of a knife under his skin.  Then Ramsay undid his own belt buckle.

“If you would have behaved better in front of my father,” Ramsay panted, “if you would have obeyed, none of that would have happened.”  He grabbed Theon’s jaw with his hand.

Theon groaned, speechless in his fear.  He knew how it went, he knew, but it seemed like every time was worse than the last.  At first he had thought it would get easier.

Ramsay didn’t prepare this time, and the pain felt like he was being split in two.  In his more “loving” moments, Ramsay got him ready; that was almost worse.  Reek stared at the ceiling, oblivious to the tears on his face.

“Are you sorry?”  Ramsay panted, jerking Theon’s face down until he was looking into his eyes.  “Are you?”

“I...I didn’t mean.”  It was the wrong answer, and Ramsay struck him hard.

“Yes,” he agreed.  “I am.”  But when Ramsay went mad, it seemed like nothing was enough.  Theon’s heart pounded in his chest until he thought he’d burst open, and that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t the end, though.

After what felt like hours of hell, Theon collapsed to the floor in a slick pile of blood and seed, all of his sensations blurring around him.

But he couldn’t mistake the sound of the door opening again. The man who entered both relieved Theon and terrified him.

Ramsay whirled around to face his father, face burning red with anger and shame. The older man spoke just two icy words.

“Explain. Bastard.”

Ramsay fumbled to collect his pants, which had fallen around his ankles.  He cursed as his hands, thick with sweat, slipped on the buckle.  When he was clothed again, he pushed his shoulders back and looked at his father.

At first Theon had been rooted to where he had fallen, head spinning, body laced with pain. _He saw me.  He saw what Ramsay does to me._  Theon whimpered involuntarily.

It usually took him forever to recover from one of Ramsay’s urges, and with Roose’s interruption, it was all the harder.  For Theon it was like coming back from a long journey, from a place far away.

 _How could he see?_  Theon wondered, at first disbelieving. _I thought...at least nobody sees._

“He...was disobedient.  I was showing him his place.”  Ramsay held his head up, but his hands shook like a beggar with palsy.  “It was only proper.”

Roose raised an eyebrow.  “It was...proper to fuck him like a whore on my table?  To spill your disgusting seed on my floor and not return my razor?”

“I…”  Ramsay face contorted; it spoke of both rage and disappointment.

Theon got himself back to the floor and his captor and Roose Bolton by scraping his palms on the floor until they bled.  Then he reached down and pulled his pants up, wincing with the effort.  Tomorrow, he would still have trouble walking.

“You will not do this again.”  Roose’s voice was low but threatening; Theon shied away.

“Do what again?  He’s mine!  I do what I want with him.”

Roose pursed his lips.  “I don’t care what you do with him, as long as you obey me.  As long as you do _simple, easy tasks_ like return stolen property and keep your pants up in everywhere but your chamber.”

Theon kept his eyes on the floor; he did not want to be here when Roose went away, and he was left alone with Ramsay.  Reflexively he pulled his pants up further, and inched away from both of them.  He was too dizzy to stand.

Ramsay’s eyes were dark pits.  “What will you do if I don’t?”  He sounded petulant.  “I’m your only living son.”

“Maybe I’ll flay you.  You seem to think it’s the only way to make your pet behave, so maybe it’s the only way to make you behave.”

Ramsay’s mouth was open, and if Theon had had to speak, he couldn’t have.  Ramsay, flayed like Reek?  No, that wasn’t possible.  It upset the order in Theon’s head.

“I...I’ll put it back now.”  Ramsay chewed his lip and flexed his fingers.  He was breathing faster.  “I’ll clean everything up.”

“I want you to get your thing new clothes, since you ruined them.”  Roose lazily examined Theon.  “And some food, for godsakes.”

Ramsay opened his mouth, like he was about he protest, but he didn’t.  Instead, he muttered: “Fine.  I will.”

“Yes.”  Roose smiled like he was at a funeral.  “You will.”


End file.
